The Girl Who Came to Stay
by 1lastdanceluv
Summary: In a small apartment in Baker Street, a detective meets a redhead with a story that will change his life... (On Hold)


**Title: **The Girl Who Came to Stay/ **Fandom:** _WhoLock_

**Genre/Type**: AU/Romance/Other / **Characters/Pairings:** Sherlock/Amy, John

**Series:** And We've Come to This / **Rating:** Eventual T / **Warnings/Spoilers**: Crime Scenes, Mild Course Language, Mild Sexual References / **Setting: **AU London / **Written For:** -

**A/N**: I don't own _Doctor Who_ or _Sherlock_ or any of the pairings etc. This is my first crossover fic of any kind so let me know what you think!

**Chapter One**

"_You're my best friend, Sherlock Holmes and don't you ever forget that."_

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm…"

"Sherlock?" Sherlock Holmes looked up from his phone to find Detective Inspector Lestrade, the coroner who took too much pleasure in discovering dead bodies and Watson, all looking at him with questions in their eyes. Lestrade… well, he just had annoyance. "We have a body here you know." John said pointing to the body of a half-naked woman lying on the ground; face down in a pool of blood.

"Oh, so that's what it is. I thought someone had thoughtlessly left their mannequin here."

"Do you mind?" Lestrade asked.

"No not at all, got nothing better to do." Sherlock replied, snapping his phone shut.

"What were you looking at?" John asked.

"Nothing." Sherlock stuffed the phone into his pocket.

"Nothing?" John repeated.

"Nothing. So body, it's dead." He said looking around at the people surrounding him, "I mean 'she's' dead."

"Dead," Lestrade repeated.

"Quite. Afternoon."

"Sherlock!" John called. Sherlock sighed and turned back around slowly, "Where are you going?"

"Out, I thought I'd go out.

"But the body?" John said indicating with his head behind him like some demented bobble-head. Sherlock sighed again, and tilted his head slightly back, "Oh, fine." She strode past John and leaned down next to the body. He lifted up dead woman's arm, tilting his head, side to side. He let the arm flop back down with a smack as it hit the wooden floor and stood up again.

"She was stabbed to death by a hunting knife."

"Yes…" Lestrade said, "We know that Sherlock, a blind twelve year old could tell me that Sherl-"

"Yes, yes," Sherlock interrupted with impatience, "What you don't know is that she stabbed herself, well the first time anyway."

"What?" Lestrade and John asked in unison.

"Sherlock how-"

"She dealt the first blow," Sherlock said, leaning down again and picking up her arm, "See the wound? Like someone had picked up a knife and stabbed them self with it. Then she fell," He said dropping the arm and standing up again, "Face down. He came in-"

"I'm sorry who came in?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"The boyfriend, Tom, Terry…" He clicked his fingers at John.

"Eric?"

"Yes, yes that's it."

"How could you get Tom from Eric?"

"Never mind that, John. Tom, Eric makes no difference to me. The point is, he came in, saw his half naked girlfriend on the floor and if that wasn't enough distraction for him, the knife sticking out of her side would've been enough. He ran over, felt a pulse, discovered one much to his dismay, grabbed the knife and boom! Boom!" Sherlock said, imitating a stabbing knife in the air, "Girlfriend dead. Guy gets girl. Unhappy drug addict girlfriend," he said, pointing to the woman on the floor, "Gets what she wants. Everybody's happy ever after. And before you ask, there are needle marks on her arm and there're not the kind you get from being a good Englishman and giving blood. And her fingernails are slightly purple, like someone suffering from a drug overdose. Afternoon." Sherlock shrugged his coat tighter around him and stalked out the door leaving three confused men behind him. Ignoring the curious glances of the police officers outside the crime-scene, Sherlock buttoned up his coat as he walked briskly away.

"Sherlock!" He didn't stop as he heard John's voice calling behind him, looking up at the darkening sky above him. "Sherlock!" John finally reached his side, struggling to keep up with Sherlock's brisk pace. "Can we slow down at all?"

"No."

"Ok, that's fine. I'm in good shape, Sherlock; I can keep up with you."

"Then why are you puffing like that ridiculous cartoon train?"

"I didn't know we were going to be doing a marathon today Sherlock. Where are we going?" Sherlock stopped walking and looked up at the sky again, squinting as the last of the sun's rays disappeared behind a thick storm cloud.

"I hate London."

"Really?" John asked, glancing upwards as he caught his breath. "Thought you loved it? All the attention, why wouldn't you?"

"Leadworth. You ever been there?" Sherlock asked, looking at John. John shook his head.

"No, where's that? Kent?" Sherlock started walking again this time slower.

"I'm not surprised you haven't. It's a little place in the middle of nowhere, with people in cottages who go to Church on Sunday's and… kiss-o-grams."

"I'm sorry, kiss-o-what's?"

"You ever feel like you've made a mistake, so big that you've changed your life in a way you never thought possible?" Sherlock asked stopping and turning to face John.

"I think everyone has Sherlock, it means we're human. What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Sherlock said, looking like he was searching John's face for something, something even he didn't know, "Nothing." He repeated shaking his head and turning back around, he resumed his frantic pace, "Nothing at all." Sherlock turned his collar up around his neck and tightened his scarf. As he turned the corner to who knows where, he could see John still standing where he'd left him. But Sherlock just kept on walking, blocking out the passers-by: the old woman begging for money, with a Prada bag hidden underneath her trash bag, a man telling his wife he loved her on the phone while winking at a passing waitress, the woman wearing very little offering passer-bys the night of their lives.

"Hey, mister," She said approaching Sherlock as he passed, "You looked troubled. Maybe I could help you."

"Not likely, and you have something between your two front teeth." The woman said something to his retreating back, then turned and casually picked her picked her teeth with a manicured fingernail. Sherlock gave a small smile. People were so susceptible to suggestion of any kind, it was so sad just how susceptible. After wandering around London in the dark for what seemed like hours on end, Sherlock finally arrived at 221B Baker Street. Before he could even knock, Mrs. Hudson was at the door, a look of panic on her face.

"Sherlock," She said, grabbing him and pulling him inside, closing the door after her, "Where on Earth have you been? We've been worried sick and John-"

"Where is John?" Sherlock asked absently as he hung his coat and scarf up on the wall hooks, barely listening as Mrs. Hudson replied.

"He's out looking for you. We've been trying to call you for hours! Haven't you heard your phone, Sherlock?"

"Hmm... Oh look, 35 missed calls," He said, walking up the stairs, "Talk about desperate."

"We've been worried Sherlock and then that woman-"

"What woman?" Sherlock asked, pausing on the stairs.  
"The one waiting for you Sherlock, been waiting for hours she has."

"What woman?" He repeated walking towards Mrs. Hudson again, "A police woman?"

"No," Mrs. Hudson shook her head, "She didn't say her name just that she had to see you. Said it was a matter of life or death she did."

"And she's waiting for me? Is she still here? Here?" Sherlock asked, pointing behind him up the stairs.

"Yes, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson, replied, looking worried at the rising look of panic on Sherlock's face.

"No, it couldn't be her."

"Who dear?"

"What?" Sherlock asked, looking at Mrs. Hudson then back up the stairs, "Nothing. Tea would be nice." He said as he bolted up the stairs.

"Landlady dear," Mrs. Hudson said to his retreating figure, "Not housekeeper."

"Thanks." Sherlock took the stairs two at a time, then paused outside the door to his flat. "What's wrong with you?" He asked, hitting himself in the head, "It's not her, she's not here, just some helpless soul needing your help. Why would she be here? Leadworth, Holmes, Leadworth. Get a hold of yourself. Just go in, pretend to be sympathetic then say no." He shook his head and opened the door, shutting it behind him with a slam, not looking where he knew the woman sat, waiting.

"Sorry about that. Traffics murder. And so was the murder. Now, Sherlock Holmes."

"Yes, I know." Sherlock paused, turning slowly to the voice. The woman got up from where she had been sitting and stepped out of the shadows. She wore a red, buttoned down shirt, a black mini-skirt and the most ridiculous jacket and semi-matching shoes that Sherlock had ever seen. And her red hair fell over her shoulders as she stood, smiling softly at him.  
"Amy," He said, a small smile creeping onto his face, "Amelia Pond." Amy grinned.

"Hullo, Sherlock."

**A/N: As my little friends the plot bunnies have decided to take a vacation: this series will be on hold for the near future. I'll finish it at some stage, but for now I'll leave Chpt 2. up to your imaginations! Mariah x**


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